


Vegvísir

by Anonymous



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Amnesia, Backstory, Between Books, Book: The Andalite Chronicles, Canon Backstory, F/M, Gen, Post-Prequel, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loren looks at him, at his pleasant, open face and broad smile and curly hair.</p><p>You’re not who I’m meant to be with, she thinks. You’re not the man I married…</p><p>There is a bright flash of light, the deafening sound of metal scraping against metal, a faint smell of something burning…and, for a brief moment, what seems like all the pain of the world is written across the features of his face, agony and shock in his eyes…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vegvísir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puella_nerdii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_nerdii/gifts).



> A Vegvísir is a sigil, or Icelandic magical stave, which is intended to guide those who bear it through rough weather.

_ Wednesday, March 6th, 1985  _

_I’ve been up all night at her bedside and I still can’t come to terms with it. I can’t come to terms with the tubes coming out of her nose and mouth and chest. I can’t come to terms with her stillness, her seeming calm, the quiet of the room apart from the steady hiss of the breathing apparatus. I can’t come to terms with the fact that I am begging her to wake up and she won’t - she can’t._

_I can't come to terms with the bandages wrapped around her head and face. I can't come to terms with the terrible scarring that the doctors have told me about, that mars her once-beautiful face._

_Tobias doesn’t know what’s happening. He’s too little to understand. He sits in my lap playing with his Lego, chattering away to me and to his mother. I’m trying to be a good grandmother – the closest thing the precious little thing has to a mother while her body heals from its terrible injuries – but I fear I’m failing him, the same way I failed his mother._

_I can’t come to terms with the fact that all I can do is sit here at my baby’s bedside and stroke her hand and sing her lullabies and hope and pray and beg to every deity I know of that she’ll wake up._

_I’ve never prayed so hard in my life, for anything or anyone. I’m even trying to make deals with Them; I wonder if that is sacrilegious, to try and wrangle bargains with omnipotent entities who know that you don’t really believe in them?_

_Sitting here, all I have is time on my hands – and the desperate hope that Loren will be granted more of it._

*********

Loren opens her eyes to the smell of bacon cooking and the sound of Tobias and Jasper laughing.

She smiles. Her boys. Making as much of a mess of the kitchen as they are a racket, no doubt.

It is an ordinary Tuesday morning. But it’s not; it’s her wedding anniversary. Five years ago, she and Jasper stood in front of their friends and family to pledge their love and devotion and lives to each other. Five years ago.

_Five years…_

Loren frowns. She can’t possibly be old enough to have been married for five years. She knows everyone has these moments, where they look back on their lives and ponder where the time went, how the years went so fast, wonder if there is a way to pause this moment – just _this_ moment – to savour it, to treasure it.

This is…different. There are moments that she looks at her son in Jasper’s arms and she knows something is not quite right. Something is not as it should be. There is part of Loren that thinks Jasper doesn’t belong with her and Tobias, but elsewhere. That there is another man, a tall, dark-haired man with eyes that are such a vibrant green they are inhuman that belongs at her side…

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaama!”

There is a loud crash from the kitchen, a frying pan hitting the tiles, followed by a stream of giggles.

Loren sighs and gets out of bed. She should know by now it’s unwise to leave Tobias and Jasper in the kitchen without adult supervision.

*********

What can Loren do other than smile when Tobias proudly deposits a plate of pancakes in front of her?

She watches Tobias grin up at Jasper as Jasper cuts Tobias’ own pancakes into small pieces that the three-year-old can manage? She watches fair-haired, green-eyed Tobias gaze adoringly at his dark-haired, dark-eyed father.

Loren – blonde-haired and blue-eyed herself – frowns. Where do Tobias’ green eyes come from? Certainly not from her side of the family. Jasper’s own family seems to be almost entirely brown-eyed…

Tobias’ laughter pulls Loren from her thoughts. She smiles at her son, at his father, at their happiness.

There’s more to this day than a simple wedding anniversary. Loren can feel it in her bones.

*********

Loren can’t explain it. As she handed Tobias to her mother, the same way she’d done a thousand times before, her stomach lurched. Her skin prickled. Her hair stood on end.

A voice wells up, somewhere from deep inside her head. _This is the last time you will ever do this…_

“Maaaaaa!”

Tobias was crying, his whole body lurching with big, heaving sobs. Not for the first time, Loren felt like a terrible mother; he must have picked up on her distress.

“Toby, Toby, it will be all right,” her mother tells Tobias, rocking him, gently wiping his tears with her fingertips. “Mommy and Daddy will be back in a few days. They’re just going away together for their anniversary.”

“We’ll be back soon, buddy!” Jasper says, his voice taking on that sing-song note he always uses to try and jolly Tobias along. “I promise.”

Loren takes Tobias in her arms and rocks him until he calms. Then she hands him back to her mother. Loren turns back and waves to them both and she and Jasper walk to the car, get in the car, and drive away. Her stomach doesn’t stop churning the entire time.

“Loren?”

She turns. They are at a red light. Jasper is looking at her. He is smiling, but looks worried.

“Loren? Are you okay?”

She looks at him, at his pleasant, open face and broad smile and curly hair.

 _You’re not who I’m meant to be with,_ she thinks. _You’re not the man I married…_

There is a bright flash of light, the deafening sound of metal scraping against metal, a faint smell of something burning…and, for a brief moment, what seems like all the pain of the world is written across the features of Jasper’s face, agony and shock in his eyes…

“No!”

His hand is moving toward her, but she can’t see how…

There is a soft click, barely audible in the cacophony around her. Her seatbelt springs free, the buckle flying toward the door.

Loren crashes through the windshield, rolling down the bonnet, her head hitting the pavement with an alarming thud.

She doesn’t see the car burst into flames.

All she sees is black.

*********

_ Tuesday, March 12th, 1985  _

_Loren opened her eyes today. She opened her eyes and turned her head towards me._

_The bandages are still thick around the crown of her head; Loren's beautiful long hair has been lost to the surgeon's shears. But the patch is off her right eye, which I'd taken as a sign of improvement. Its twists downward at the outer corner and her once sharp, crystal blue eyes are hazy, dull, milky._

_“Loren?” I asked. “Loren, honey, it’s me. It’s Mom.”_

_Confusion twisted Loren’s features. “Mom?”_

_I knew in that moment something was desperately wrong. It wasn’t just the strange film over her eyes, but a mixture of things. The jerkiness of the way she turned to me, the complete confusion, a dullness to her voice._

_The doctors remain upbeat, insisting she is merely readjusting to being awake. I am not so confident: she just doesn’t seem quite…right. She’s always been so bright, ever since she was a little girl…_

*********

If Loren were to think about it, she would have been infinitely grateful that Tobias wasn’t in the car with her and his father that day. She would have been grateful she’d dropped him at her mother’s place early that morning. She would have been grateful it was their anniversary and that her mother offered to babysit him while she and Jasper had the weekend together to celebrate four happy years of marriage.

She would have, if she’d thought about it.

But she didn’t remember it was her anniversary. Or that she had a husband. Or a mother.

Or a _son_.

She didn’t remember _anything_ , although she knew she should have memories. It wasn’t that there was just…blankness…in her head. She knew…something…was missing. She knew she should remember. But those memories were out of reach, hovering close enough to taunt but still just outside her reach.

All she can remember is a confusing jumble of images. Images she sure can’t be…right. Can’t be _real_.

Being herded into a cage by a tall, grey… _creature_ …with eyes the size of small plates. A human boy, no older than fourteen of fifteen, kicking her savagely until she falls to the ground, landing on her knees in front of a writhing, squirming mass of gigantic centipedes. Centipedes she somehow knows are driven by a terrible and uncontrollable hunger.

Huge, hulking beasts with blades at their knees and elbows and running down their backs.

She wants to tear her head open, cut the images out of her ruined brain. Anything to make the nightmares stop...

But then, there is a flash of blue…

Outside the prison of her mind, Loren can’t see anything, other than blackness. Not even shadows or vague shapes. She can see _nothing_. Just a never-ending expanse of darkness, total and complete and all-consuming.

Black is all she will see for some time to come.

*********

_ Wednesday, March 20th, 1985  _

_I left Loren’s bedside for a few hours today, leaving her under the watchful, weary eyes of her sister. At her sister’s insistence._

_I am too tired to argue._

_I went to ‘acquire provisions’, as my husband used to phrase it before he…well. Before he left. In sane people’s terms, I walked down the street to buy some groceries. Mostly to give myself something to do._

_VegeMart is owned by a lovely Greek-American family. They suffered the devastating loss of their eldest child, Pavlos, seven years ago. Pavlos, who was a talented jeweller and all-round craftsman, was sitting in his car with his lovely new bride, waiting for the lights to change, when a truck driver lost control of his brakes and rolled over him._

_His mother, Christina – a woman barely fifteen years older than I, whom I have known since I was a little girl – wears his picture inside a pendant at her throat and a bracelet he crafted for her at her wrist, an almost invisible yet constant reminder to herself of what she has lost. She only ever looks half-alive, and when she speaks of Pavlos, you could be mistaken for thinking he has merely stepped out of the room and will be returning any moment._

_Her eyes frighten me. They shine often with the eerie sheen of unshed tears that are trapped behind the intensity of her grief. I wonder if she has ever been able to cry for Pavlos, or if her tears will remain trapped inside her for all time._

_Back when Pavlos was killed, I felt so helpless. I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was lay my hand on hers and whisper, “I am so sorry, Christina.”_

_Even now, what do I say to her? Loren didn’t die, of course – she is a few hundred yards up the road safe in a hospital bed, under the care of doctors and her increasingly-paranoid sister. Loren didn’t die, but I am beginning to feel like part of her died on impact._

_Maybe, one day, I’ll look half alive, too, like Christina, tortured forever with questions of what might have been._

_When I reached the checkout, Christina was there as always, with her sad, dark eyes, her pendant a flash of gold at her throat._

_“Hi, Chris. How are you today?” I didn't know what else to say to her._

_She surprised me, though, and laid her hand on mine._

_"Loren will be all right, Mallory,” she said to me and, just for a moment, there was a flash of the woman I once knew in her eyes. “Just let her know that you will always love her, and it will all work out.”_

_Unconsciously, I squeezed her fingers. I don't know why I thought she wouldn't have heard about Loren's accident._

_She smiles at me again, the light still in her eyes. “Anytime you need someone to talk to, darling, I’m here. We’re all here for you.”_

_Behind her, her family stopped their work for a moment to look over at us. I smiled weakly, trying to thank them for their kindness, but my throat had closed up. They all nodded to me in acknowledgment. The sad smiles on their faces spoke of an understanding of deep, shared grief._

_“Thank you,” I whispered to them. “Thank you,” I whisper again, this time to Christina. “I just…I just feel so helpless…I don’t know how to help her.”_

_Christina smiles and unclasps the bracelet her son made for her. It is full of charms and trinkets; I’ve always loved the soft jingling sound it makes._

_“Here,” she says, handing me one of the charms. The design’s sharp, straight lines are strangely beautiful; it looks almost like a compass._

_“It is Vegvísir,” Chris says softly. “It’s a rune. The old Vikings used to use it. It guides and protects its bearer through rough weather. Pavlos made it for me. His wife had Nordic heritage, remember?”_

_I nod dumbly; I realize that she looked so like Loren, blonde and blue-eyed and beautiful. It's almost too much for me to bear. I don't know how Chris can stand it, the overwhelming loss. How could someone withstand the agony of burying their own child?_

_The charm is beautiful. It’s a piece of Pavlos. I can’t ask Chris to give this up when she has so little of him left._

_“I can't accept this…” I go to say, but the look in Chris’ dark eyes brokers no argument._

_She hugged me as I left the store, and I again saw the fragments of the lively, happy young girl who used to pick me up and swing me around when I was little._

_“You will see, Mallory. It will be all right. In time.”_

In time.

_I am tempted to hope that she is right._

*********

It is three years before Loren is released from care. In that time, the entire landscape of the wreckage where her life used to be has changed, and changed again.

Margaret, Loren’s brother’s wife, swears the family is cursed, that the hand of some sort of powerful, external force is evident in the chain of events than began with the car accident that claimed Jasper’s life and Loren’s beauty and eyes and memory.

Loren’s sister Mary claims she doesn’t remember punching Margaret in the face.

“It must have been the fist of some sort of powerful, external force that bruised her jaw,” Mary claims.

Margaret is not happy when John, her husband, laughs along with his sister.

The fact it is the first time John and Mary have laughed together since their mother’s death seems lost on her.

But by the time Loren is rehabilitated enough to live outside of an institution, she can’t remember her mother, the woman who sat by her bedside in those first days and weeks and months after her accident.

The woman who threaded a charm onto a silver chain and clasped it around Loren’s neck in the hope it would protect her when nothing else had. Loren can feel it at her throat, but doesn’t know what it is or why she continues to wear it.

But she doesn’t take it off.

Loren barely remembers Mary and John and Margaret, who continued to visit her after Mallory’s heart attack, which took her in her sleep, impervious to the grandson who valiantly sat by her side for four hours, shaking her, trying to wake her.

She has vague recollections of the little boy the hospital staff kept bringing to her, the little blond boy the doctors told her was her son. Tobias.

But she doesn’t remember him.

She certainly doesn’t remember the husband who died in the same fiery wreck which destroyed her life, whose last act was to free her from sharing his fate.

She doesn’t remember much of anything, she doesn’t even remember the names of her sister and brother and sister-in-law. The people the hospital staff tell her are caring for this little boy, _her_ little boy.

All Loren knows is the agony of physical therapy and the headaches and the phantom pains and her own impotent rage.

She doesn’t even know her sister’s last name. She doesn’t even know how to find her son.

What good is she to this son of hers if she can’t even function?

Loren knows she should try harder to find him. Loren knows there must be files somewhere. That someone at the hospital must have done their job properly and kept some actual paperwork.

But then she thinks of how she had to be taught everything again, like she was a goddamn child.

And she knows she can’t be a mother to him.

All she can do is hope and pray that he’s safe and happy and cared for.

Loren knows it's more than she can give him.

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt absolutely made my Yuletide, Puella; I hope you enjoy reading it as I certainly enjoyed writing it. I felt this was a natural end-point (at least to the first part of a longer tale) and didn't want to the story too become too overlong or bloated, but I would also love to add to this story later, if you would like.
> 
> Have a fantastic holiday season!
> 
> PS: My apologies for any tagging or formatting glitches or if any fields have been filled out incorrectly. I was having some browser and internet connectivity issues when I initially posted this story and I will be doing another edit when I'm free of tech issues. But please let me know if you spot any errors - including typos - and I'll amend them as soon as possible!


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